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Walton's Situation
Deep in the ranch home of Walton is his favorite thing, ever. If anybody else knew - he'd be slaughtered within seconds. That won't happen though, because Walton is clever. He is a damn genius and nobody will find the children unless he makes a mistake. The amount of mistakes Walton makes is 0, he loves his kids and prizes them most. Never will he allow the authorities to take them from him. The situation involves several patrolling police vehicles outside of his home. Walton is seated by his window, hidden behind tattered green curtains as he watches intently on. The police are knocking on the other ranch homes in the area. There are only 8 other houses but, Walton himself knows when they get to his house - he's caught, it's over and finished. Walton sighs and sits back in his wicker chair, the green curtains sway back into their closed position and he sits nervously, chewing on his fingers anxiously. His face is displaying deep worry by now. He looks around the room he's in, the large fireplace is lit and is glowing up the old-style decor of his living room. Crumby ornaments of animals, dogs, famous landmarks and war memorabilia align strategically around the room as several mismatched coloured armchairs are placed atop of a large rug that covers the majority of the living room. Walton leans forward in his chair and peers through the curtains again. One passing police vehicle just as he looked, the blue and red light from the sirens are constantly flashing through the area. Walton takes a deep gulp, it is hard to swallow and his mouth and throat feel dry. He sighs again. Leaning back and making sure the curtains are closed correctly, Walton stands up and confirms his authority. He walks over to the fireplace and pours water into it using a tin watering can. There's a lever that sifts up through the chimney that will blow the smoke cloud up and out, he cranks the lever a few times until the fire has completely dispersed, then walks to the rug and lifts one of the armchairs away from it. The police outside notice the chimney smoke coming from Walton's house. Somebody is in, that's good for them. Meanwhile, Walton rolls up the rug revealing a trap door leading down under the house. The door is extremely heavy, he uses a large steel pipe to hold it open whilst he reaches back up for the rug to hide the door again. He times it perfectly, positioning the pole on the left side of the door as he pulls the rug with his right arm. He will now unroll the rug in one smooth movement of partly throwing the rug as he hits the pipe - dropping down into the basement along with the steel pipe, in good hopes that the rug unrolled perfectly. Okay everybody. We have a problem. Says Walton in his nasally voice. He looks around the basement, brushing his hands together. Nobody replies. Today is make or break. Meaning, you may become free but - don't get your hopes up. I have things prepared here. Walton sniffles and chuckles as he swipes his balding hair back against his head. His eyes are wide and don't appear to blink all that much. His hand is lowered, caressing his penis as usual and a stringy glob of spit is swashing around what was a dry mouth. Just in case things go sour - I want one last party. Everyone's invited, okay? 17 kids in cages. Each one of them shadowed and pale in the darkness for years. None of them speak to each other anymore. They all share the same nightmare and have no other memories to speak of anymore. Walton's favorite kid was a young boy, now 8 years of age named Harry. His second favorite was a girl named Sammie who was 4 or 5 years of age, one of his most recent captures and one which he felt most paranoid about keeping. The others had their turn in no particular order, some were lucky until another day but Walton could go at best 14 times a day. It was time for him to get his fuck on. He unlocked Harry and Sammie's cages. They were sat fully naked, as was everyone including Walton, who was now yanking what appeared to be chains or 'leashes' around the children's necks. C'mon you slinky cunts, come and suck Daddy's dick! Walton spits with intensity and as doing so pulls harshly on the chains. Harry throttles to the floor and busts his nose. Sammie simply fell, but retained composure and continued to crawl towards Walton. Sammie's hands and knees were grubby as were Harry's. Walton sat with his legs crossed on the floor with a huge erection. His penis was a stained yellow and showed signs of definite infection. Lumpy testicles with extremely uncared for pubic hairs that were tangled and weedy. The penis slanted almost all the way to the left, as if broken or forever bent. First, it was Harry's turn. It was always Harry first, but today was different. Sammie, join in. Join in now. Now. He calmly ordered, and so she did. Sammie knocked heads with Harry, but quickly backed away a little due to the putrid smell emitting from Walton's penis. It was like a fish-infused block of rotted cheese and not far from looking like that, too. Walton slapped the back of Sammie's head and ordered her to continue, 'quickly'. She wobbled down and received a shallow headache from the slap, Walton laughed at this, and chose to slap both Harry and Sammie as they sucked at him. The other kids in the cages watched on, silently crying or naturally looking away covering their ears. A knock echoes through the house. The police were at Walton's house. His erection faded instantly as he stood and stuffed his old sweaty socks into Harry and Sammie's mouth demanding that they 'Shh'. He whispers to the other children, If any of you shout or scream, I will kill you right now. There would be no point. You might as well keep living this shitty life instead of dying. Got it? It makes sense. Walton, worried and nakedly attaches himself to the wall nearest to the front door. The kid's watch him. He is splatted against the wall, listening intently. More knocks. We will break in if you don't answer, sir. We know you're in there. We saw the chimney smoke, sir! .... I will count to 10!'' The countdown begins. Walton spins around from the wall in a blind panic dressing himself quickly. He silently pushes Harry and Sammie back into the cage and as peacefully as possible he shuts the cage door behind him. Walton has his jeans on, no boxers, no shirt. The countdown is slow and is currently on 5 seconds. He spins in no specific direction, cursing to himself 'fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck', as he cleans the area as if that will help - acting busy for no apparent reason but to fill the countdown. The door breaks down. Walton is crouched on all fours listening above. Probably, 3 or 4 cops are inside scattering above in multiple rooms. He listens, one is in his kitchen, one is running up the stairs and one more is in the room right above the basement where he was. He can hear the muffled voices, Clear! over and over until the footsteps patter into the living room minutes afterwards. Walton's heart is beating insanely, he turns to the kids and symbols a 'shh' with rage. His face looked crazy as he did this. Walton hears, Most of these houses have a basement. Maybe we should double check the area? and another cop says, He must have been here, the fire isn't exactly unused. It's still partly warm. After this, the cops seemed to of pushed on into the kitchen which has muffled their voices entirely. Walton sighs some relief. Suddenly, Carl screams. Loudly. It couldn't of been missed... Carl was 9 and very freckly with ginger hair. He was Walton's favorite for a long time before becoming 'last in line'. With reflexes horrifyingly fast, Walton swings over to Carl's cage and pokes a large and sharp blade directly through his freckly face. It mushed through the bridge of his nose and between his eyes. Carl's screaming hazed out into a pathetic squeal as his eyes crossed and blood poured from his open and 'stupid' mouth. Walton held his head up with the blade, cursing at him and softly twisting the knife in pure anger. The other kids were horrified but didn't do anything. Even they as well as Walton listened now. The officers upstairs had grew silent. They were up there, though as creaks in the floorboards emerged slowly right above the basement. The atmosphere in the basement was stuffy and hard to breathe. It felt like an hour and Walton's arm was beginning to hurt holding Carl's corpse up with the knife. It was probably more like 5 minutes, which passed to leading to an officer saying, Kids outside? Let's go. We'll come back tomorrow. The footsteps slink away and the front door of Walton's home slams shut. Walton releases Carl, the body flops down carelessly. He stands up, pulls his jeans down and starts to fiddle with his penis again. Lucky us. It's time to play again children, he says with a giant and perverted smile on his face. Now. Where were we...Ah, Sammie, Harry. Finish me off.